Visions
by Culumacilinte
Summary: Charlie is curious as to why Desmond is so eager to save his life, and Desmond explains. Or rather, demonstrates. Takes place immediately after Flashes Before Your Eyes. Slash.


Title: Visions

Author: Culumacilinte

Pairing: Desmond David Hume/Charlie Pace

Rating: R

Disclaimer: I own nothing, nothing at all. These two characters are the property of the wonderful actors who portray them- Henry Ian Cusick and Dominic Monaghan, respectively- as well as the writers of _Lost_. I am earning no money in this endeavour, alas, and much though I might wish this would occur on the show, I find it to be highly unlikely.

Summary: Why exactly has Desmond been trying so hard to save Charlie's life? Charlie wants to know, and, obligingly, Desmond not only tells him, but also shows him. Takes place immediately after "Flashes Before Your Eyes"

"So," Charlie looked at Desmond, the suspicion in his face now melted into curiosity, "you're telling me you saw a flash of Claire drowning this morning -- that's how you knew how to save her?"

Desmond shook his head, looking pained. "I wasn't saving Claire, Charlie- I was saving _you_."

Charlie blinked at him, not understanding. "Y'what?"

"This morning you dove in after Claire. You tried to save her but you drowned."

"What are you talking about?" Charlie interrupted, feeling increasingly confused. "I didn't drown."

But Desmond only ploughed on, becoming more and more frantic. "When I saw the lightening hit the roof you were electrocuted. And when you heard Claire was in the water you -- you drowned trying to save her. I dove in myself so you never went in. I've tried, brothah. I've tried twice to save you-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, _whoa_!" Charlie held up his hands to halt the other man's rambling speech. Surprisingly, Desmond silenced, and that in itself caused Charlie to do something of a double take, but he shook his head, closing his eyes and giving himself a moment to process what Desmond had said. After a short silence, Charlie opened his eyes and cocked his head to one side, a queer expression on his face. "Why?" He asked, his voice rough, "Why d'you want to save me?"

Desmond looked as though he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. He stared incredulously at Charlie. "What?"

"Why d'you want to save me so badly?" Charlie repeated, and Desmond shook his head, still staring.

"Why wouldn't I, brothah? I'd do the same for anyone else on this island."

Charlie pursed his lips and gave Desmond a curt nod. "Mmm. That's not it, though."

Desmond gave him a curious look. "And how d'ye reckon that one?

Charlie let out a harsh bark of laughter, strangely different from his ordinary laugh, and vaguely unsettling. "You're drunk, _brother. _And not nearly as adept at concealing things as you might imagine. Alcohol does tend to do that, y'know."

A scowl twisted Desmond's face at this, and he turned away.

"So," Charlie persisted, "why's it me you're so desperate to save? I mean, it's not just me who's in danger on this island, yeah?"

Desmond shook his head wearily, turning away. "Don't ask me why, brothah. Not now. Not tonight."

"I want to know!" Charlie cried, shaking the other man's shoulders violently until suddenly Desmond wrenched his head up to look Charlie straight in the face and Charlie was momentarily shocked to see that his cheeks were streaked with tears.

"You want ta' know why?" He ground out, and Charlie nodded dumbly. "Because," he started, and his voice rasped on the last syllable, "because if you live… if I save you…" He trailed off, shaking his head as more tears leaked out from under tightly shut eyelids. "Shite, I'm drunk." He muttered thickly.

"Uh, yeah, you are." Charlie agreed, not knowing what else to say, "But look, mate," he said, laying a hand on Desmond's shoulder and squeezing, "Just… tell us what's up, and I'll get you off to bed, yeah?"

Desmond glanced lazily at the hand on his shoulder and dragged a wrist across his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was harsh with the strain of unshed tears. "Because… if you live, then-" he swallowed, "then I… then we…"

He stopped suddenly, and before Charlie could think to react or ask questions, Desmond had seized him on both sides of his head and brought their faces together in a bruising kiss. Charlie let out a squeak of surprise, but Desmond was unrelenting.

It was not a nice kiss, not pleasant or enjoyable; it was desperation and desire and despair, and Charlie could feel Desmond's tears on his cheeks, and taste the salt of them on his lips. The kiss tasted of whiskey; of fine, aged MacCutcheon's on his tongue, and on Desmond's tongue, until his mouth was aflame with it and his head was swimming ever more so than it had been before.

And just like that, Desmond pulled away. "That's why."

Charlie gawped at him, his mouth hanging partway open, until Desmond let out a watery chuckle and he hastily shut it, suddenly aware that he had been unabashedly staring. He looked down, absently tracing patterns in the strangely cool sand with the tip of a finger.

"So," he murmured roughly, "you saw that?"

Desmond's mouth stretched in a mirthless smile. "Aye, brothah; I saw that. And more."

The other man looked up suddenly, a strange, almost manic light gleaming in his eyes. "What else?" He demanded.

"Mmm?"

"What else did you see?!"

A pair of warm brown eyes flickered up to meet Charlie's, and there was something rich and strange simmering in their depths. "D'ye really want ta' know that, brothah?" He asked, and his voice came dangerously close to a purr.

Charlie nodded breathlessly. "Yeah."

"I saw… a red welt, a bruise… here." His finger trailed over the junction of Charlie's neck and shoulder, the dip of the collarbone, "from my teeth, from where I'd bitten you, hard enough to make you squirm and moan."

Charlie's breathing was distinctly tighter now, and Desmond gazed intently at the patch of skin he had indicated, running his finger across it once more, digging in just slightly with his nail- just enough to scrape the surface of the skin and make the breath catch in the other man's throat. It was fascinating, really, the way skin reacted to superficial scratches such as that; for just a moment, the path he had traced with his nail turned pure white- like an old scar- before flaming into an angry red. Charlie bit his lip.

"Surely," he choked out, "that's not it."

"No," murmured Desmond, "no it's not…" He looked up at Charlie, somehow managing to look coy despite the gaunt cast to his face and the salt-tear tracks down his dirty, suntanned cheeks. His mouth twitched in a grin. "Where d'ye want me ta' start, brothah? I see a lot, y'know."

"Right!" Charlie gasped, "Well, start where you left off, I suppose."

Desmond murmured something agreeable, then suddenly shifted forward until he was within centimetres of Charlie's face. He cocked an eyebrow, and then slowly, deliberately, he leaned down and ran his tongue over the fading pink mark his nail had left.

A muscle in Charlie's shoulder spasmed.

"My tongue," Desmond muttered against the other man's skin, "wet,"

Charlie shivered.

"Cool,"

He shivered again.

"Soothing against your skin where I'd bitten it." He mouthed lightly at the spot, nipping just slightly in-what? A promise… or a memory. Charlie didn't know, and at this particular moment he couldn't care less. Desmond looked up again, now as if gauging Charlie's reaction, and then took his hand in one of his and lightly kissed the palm of it.

"I saw your hands in my hair," he whispered, guiding said hand to the side of his head, where it sat perfectly motionless save for the slight trembling wracking Charlie's entire frame. "Your hands," Desmond repeated, "fisting in my hair. Tangling and tugging at it, as you _moan_."

A hand stole up the length of Charlie's leg, skimming over the kneecap and lightly grazing the inner thigh before coming to rest just before its final destination, squeezing at Charlie's upper thigh and making the other man gasp. After a moment's hesitation, Desmond brushed his hand across the burgeoning prominence in Charlie's trousers, first just a teasing brush of the fingers, then a firm cupping which- just as Desmond had said- made Charlie moan, his hands tightening in long, brown hair.

"Mmm, just like that." Desmond smiled fiercely, "And I saw this-" Deftly, his fingers popped the button on Charlie's jeans, and he toyed with the zip for a moment as Charlie looked at him with unfocussed eyes.

"You saw this?"

"Aye, I did… d'ye have any idea what that's like, brothah?" Desmond's hand was down the front of Charlie's trousers now, pumping furiously against the constricting fabric. Charlie's face was glowing red, slicked with sweat, his eyes glazed feverishly. Desperately he bit his lip, trying not to make any sound as his hands scrabbled in the sand, looking for something to grip on where there was none. Desmond continued.

"Just walking along when suddenly ye're hit by an image of _this_?" He hissed the last word, and Charlie bit back a groan. "And it's not just the sight either- it's sound, and _sensation_."

Charlie's hips jerked forward involuntarily, and he let out an incendiary hiss. "Fuck!"

"Aye…" Desmond murmured, and seeing in Charlie's face that he was very close to being finished, he suddenly leaned over and bit hard at the spot he had indicated earlier. Hard enough to draw blood and wring a strangled groan from Charlie as he came, twitching into Desmond's touch, his body wracked with shudders.

When the tremors subsided and Charlie had regained partial control of his brain, Desmond stood up and brushed the sand off his trousers. Looking down at Charlie, he gave him a nod and a cockeyed grin.

"I'll see you in the morning, brothah."

And with that he was gone. Charlie shook his head wonderingly, plucking distastefully at the sticky patch on his trousers. On a sudden thought, he reached up to feel the slight ache where Desmond's teeth had been, wiping his fingers off on his jeans when they came away wet with blood.

The next day, no-one noticed the new injury which seemed to have sprung up on Charlie's neck. Life on the Island was rough, after all, and scrapes and bruises were commonplace.

But Desmond noticed.

He noticed, and when he saw Charlie that day, he gave him a small smile which said a little more than it ought, his eyes flickering down and then up again as Charlie's face flamed into an embarrassed flush. Desmond smiled to himself as he walked away.

This day was looking better already.


End file.
